


we should have had this conversation long ago

by uptillthree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, damen and his repressed emotions, if pacat won't do it i will, references to the garden scene & damen's scars?, tw for mild references to book one to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptillthree/pseuds/uptillthree
Summary: “Ancel?” said Damen, the name uprooting a sour memory. “The same Ancel who—”“Yes. Ancel from the gardens,” said Laurent, watching him carefully. Then: “I never apologized to you for that.”“What?”“Ancel. The gardens."





	we should have had this conversation long ago

**Author's Note:**

> .....i have not, in fact, read pet yet. i'm sure i'll enjoy it well enough when i do but after witnessing certain spoilers and Disk Horse i wanted to write this. i hope they aren't out of character? hmu @julesdap on twitter/tumblr

Immediately after Damen’s coronation, Laurent and his advisors had ridden hard for Vere, leaving only Herode as the new Ambassador to Akielos behind.

They'd already planned to officially move the capital to Marlas on the same day Laurent would be crowned King, and it would have been detrimental to leave Vere without a king to lead her for any longer. Still, Laurent had stayed in Vere only as long as was necessary. Once both of their countries were more or less stabilized, there was still the alliance— not to mention a union— to think about, and so Damen met with him again in Marlas, this time with both of them bringing their Councils.

Even now, with Laurent’s own coronation coming soon, there was still much to plan.

“This is a list of Veretian nobles heading to Marlas in two weeks,” Laurent said, sliding under the covers with him.

Damen groaned. It was already late. “Laurent, we’re in bed.” But he took the proffered list anyway.

“I know. It’s more comfortable working here than on a worktable.” Laurent tucked his head beneath Damen’s chin while Damen held the paper to the light. “Those people will be part of the new court of Marlas.”

“You trust them?”

“Well enough. I trust in their proficiency if nothing else. There are still some who might be a problem…” Laurent was pointing out names, people who still somewhat opposed the coming union with Akielos and were too highly-ranked to quite ignore.

“Alright…” Laurent already knew who the members of the Akielon court would be. Damen knew he would have to gain the trust of Laurent’s court just as Laurent had done with Damen’s. It would come with time. He read through the names more carefully, though he knew he would be more fully able to commit it to memory once he met them in person. Unsurprisingly there were only a few he recognized: Vannes, Estienne, and—

 _“Ancel?”_ said Damen, the name uprooting a sour memory. “The same Ancel who—”

“Yes. Ancel from the gardens,” said Laurent, watching him carefully.

“He’s a courtier now?”

“A lesser noble.” Laurent was looking at him. “And Berenger’s consort.”

Damen blinked, recalling young, self-serving Ancel, and tried to reconcile his impression of reliable, loyal Councilor Berenger as the willing husband of— well, that. “Really.”

“You seem surprised." Laurent tilted his head. "You forget Ancel is ambitious, and in Vere, even people of low birth can rise to a position. He's proven himself to be quite a quick thinker.”

“I’m not sure whether I’m more surprised at Ancel or _Berenger.”_

A snort. “That is because you did not see the way those two acted around each other in and out of court.”

At that, Damen found himself laughing. “I never took you to be the type to engage in court gossip.”

“Berenger was one of my only supporters at the time. Him, Vannes, Herode, a few others. I took notice.”

“Well. You certainly have more than a few supporters now.” It had been hard-won, the trust of Akielon and Veretian nobles alike— but Laurent was long-used to hard-won battles, and Damen had not been the least bit surprised to see his successes.

“I suppose,” Laurent said, looking away.

“What is it?”

As though he had made a decision, Laurent’s gaze returned to him. “I never apologized to you for that.”

“Hm?”

“Ancel. The gardens.”

Damen frowned, the same sour memory resurfacing, too close to be comfortable. He did not know why Laurent was bringing this up now. He put the list away, on the small table beside their bed. “That— it’s a long time ago.”

“Less than a year.” Laurent was looking at him like he was looking _for_ something. “It was cruel. It was not the only cruel thing I did to you.”

Damen frowned. He wanted— not to speak of this, the past, to steer the conversation away from memories he was long since content to lock up. But the past had always been volatile, and Laurent, once set upon a course of action, did not know of stopping.

“We should have had this conversation long ago, only I was not brave enough to do it. I apologize now. I—” The words came slow, carefully chosen, as though stepping around landmines. “That night—all the time in Arles, really, but that night in particular—I felt almost like I _needed_ to do something to you, I wanted revenge, after what had happened in court— but there is no excuse. I’m… sorry.”

Damen let the words settle in his gut. Suddenly, the memory of the gardens in Arles seemed— not insignificant, but farther away from him, with Laurent looking at him like that, sincere and solemn and present. He had not expected this. “You didn't seem to regret it. Before.”

“I was determined not to regret many things I’ve done,” Laurent said quietly. He lifted one hand to run through the curls at Damen’s nape, and then move an inch lower, finding the longest scar Damen had gained from the whip. Laurent’s hand laid there, heavily. “Even on the border campaign, even when things became clearer between us… I convinced myself you deserved it, deserved everything I did to you. A grotesque sort of penance. But— you are—”

A rarity: Laurent seemed to run out of words. Instead he brought his other hand up wordlessly to cup beneath Damen’s cheek, moving up to lay eye-to-eye with Damen on the bed and rest their foreheads together.

“I hurt you, and in return, you have given me so much: a kingdom, _and_ you— and I do not know how I will ever make up for it. Damen. I’m sorry.”

Damen dared not blink: He did not want to shatter this quiet honesty between them, and yet it had always been present. The dim light of the torches made Laurent’s eyes look a much deeper blue. “Laurent, I forgave you— I must have— a long time ago.”

“Of course you did.” It was an effortless tilt forward for their lips to meet, and Laurent kissed him. “I’m still sorry. I always am. I... want you to know that.”

He could no longer pretend that this did not mean anything to him: For Damen had forgiven Laurent long ago, that was true, and yet here, now, was an old hatchet being buried in the dirt still, a fragile calm settling in his chest, like a burden that had somehow lightened without him even noticing it was there. Without conscious thought, his hand slid around Laurent’s waist and gathered him close.

Laurent was staring at him, waiting for some sort of reaction, but it was hard to find the words. For the first time in months Damen deliberately cast his thoughts back to all that had transpired in Arles. He knew that, on their journey to the border, Laurent had convinced himself— had tried to convince himself— that the Damen he knew and trusted was not the same as the Damianos who had killed his brother. It was perhaps the only way he could have trusted Damen so freely back then.

Now, desperately, Damen too wanted to say—to excuse, even: _That was different, that was in Arles, it wasn’t you—_ but it wouldn’t have made sense.

There had only ever been one of him. The Laurent in his arms now was the same Laurent who had hurt him in Arles, and Damen, fragile with that reminder, wanted to love him anyway.

He already did. He tugged Laurent ever closer, one hand burying itself in Laurent’s golden hair, eyes sliding shut.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice too raw to be raised above a whisper, and felt the press of Laurent’s lips to his forehead.


End file.
